


Gym Buddies

by turnyourankle



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-07
Updated: 2008-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-22 15:03:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnyourankle/pseuds/turnyourankle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High School AU.</p><p>The only class Frank and Mikey have together is P.E.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gym Buddies

Mikey never participates: he's managed to convince Mr. Armstrong that he suffers from severe asthma. He works very hard at upholding that image, too: he spends every class sitting on the bench, legs in a vee, letting out loud wheezes whenever Armstrong wanders in his direction. His credits come from helping Armstrong carry string ball bags, and making sure cones are evenly distributed on the gymnasium floor.

He always makes sure to cough a lot once he's done, exhaling with force as he slumps onto one of the benches. ("You're going to inadvertently cough up a lung one of these days," Gerard tells him when Mikey demonstrates his technique. "You're better off sweating a bit than being lungless, ya know. Just a thought." Gerard doesn't understand that there's no such thing as overkill when it comes to asthma.)

Frank on the other hand runs around like a maniac at all times. He's making a solid effort at erasing his New Kid stamp with a Crazy Kid one. He's not that coordinated, or good, but he's committed; getting himself flushed and sweaty regardless of what sport is being played. What he lacks in skill he makes up for in enthusiasm. It always looks like he's on his way to get tackled to the ground and beaten on -- oftentimes by his own teammates -- but he continues to swerve under armpits and run patterns into the floor. The jocks he circles are always spinning in around themselves when he's done, a few times even knocking each other over.

Mr. Armstrong doesn't ever look pleased -- in fact, the only reason Mikey knows Frank's full name is due to the amount of times Armstrong yells it, each time with more of a drawl than the previous, irritation bleeding into his inflection -- but Frank leaves the class with a grin on his face every week.

If anything, Mikey thinks it's worth missing out on the exercise just for the show.

  


...

  
It's not that hard to miss Frank outside of gym either. He doesn't ever try to blend in. It's almost like he tries to stick out: laughing loudly, getting his eyebrow pierced and refusing to shrink into corners when he probably should.

One lunch Mikey witnesses Frank snatching the last pudding right in front of the upperclassman who'd spent the last gym class running after him. The guy doesn't do anything -- it would be below him, Mikey knows and Frank probably knows too -- just keeps his face stiff as Frank shrugs and twists his face in an insincere apology before bouncing off to his seat.

It's not that Frank is outright provoking, really. Most people seem to like him. He always has someone to sit with at lunch – alternating between the cheerleader table and the nerd one -- and when he's not defending freshmen, he's usually smiling. It's not something Mikey's used to seeing, so he really can't be blamed for staring. Really.

Frank waves to Mikey once, when he catches him staring at him. Mikey almost chokes on his juice, and does this hand movement that might be construed as a wave or brushing off dandruff or killing a fly, just in case Frank wasn't actually aiming the wave at him. Frank nods though, and Mikey's somewhat relieved. He expects Frank to walk over, but he doesn't move from where he's sitting. Frank continues gesturing to the blonde sitting across from him, and leans over the table they're sitting at to see what she's carving into the hard plastic surface.

Mikey swishes the last of his juice around, and feigns interest in the conversation the girls sitting next to him are having.

  


...

  
The first time they actually talk is after school.

Mikey's waiting for Gerard to come pick him up, and he's late _again_. Mikey forgot to call Gerard and remind him that he needed the ride, which means he estimates he has about twenty minutes left to wait. Out of the corner of his eye he notices Frank dropping down on the stairs. Mikey doesn't look directly at him; it looks like Frank's deep-throating a popsicle and really, that's not something Mikey needs to see right now. Not now, definitely not now.

There's an obscene _plop_ when the icicle slips out of Frank's mouth, and Mikey has to look over, just to make sure he didn't imagine it.

Frank catches his eye and smiles, asks, "Hey, got a smoke?"

Frank wasn't unclear, and there's no one else there, so Mikey knows Frank's talking to him. Yet, the only thing he thinks of to say is, "What?"

"I saw you outside the old cinema on George street like, a week ago? Smoking. A cig, that is. Unless it was a joint, but I wouldn't say no to that either." Frank's lips stretch out across his face, a sly, knowing smile forming. He pokes out his tongue the tiniest bit, and Mikey can't stop staring at how blue it is.

"That wasn't mine." It was true: Gerard had left the cigarette with him as he picked up the movie tickets. He didn't want to stub it out, and Mikey figured he might as well take advantage.

"Bummer." Frank sticks the popsicle back into his mouth, and he squints at the parking lot. This is the calmest Mikey's ever seen him, and it's weird in way, the way this visual blends so well with the one Mikey already has of him. He hums a familiar tune, and Mikey nods along to it as he makes figure eights in the gravel, not at all looking at Frank's lips as they get bluer and bluer.

Frank's ride comes first, and he yells, "See ya later!" over his shoulder as he crouches into the car. Mikey disperses the gravel with his heel and starts forming letters instead.

  


...

  
Mikey gets a little concerned when Frank misses gym two days later, and even more so when he doesn't see him around at lunch, or recess, or even just waiting for a ride. There's no Frank to be seen for the rest of the week, and the theories go from thought bubbles to full blown knots in his stomach. Maybe Frank got transferred, or maybe he moved. Maybe his family got put into witness protection. Maybe something worse happened; they don't share homeroom, and they're not even friends, really. The thought is not as consoling as it should be.

The worry translates into him zoning out in class more than usual, thinking up catastrophe scenarios that involve Frank jonesing so bad for a cigarette or joint that he stole one from the art teacher and got arrested. Or maybe he got expelled for eating a banana in a too provocative manner.

Mikey keeps an eye on the blonde he saw Frank eating with a few times, but she doesn't look sad or worried; just bored, and sort of creeped out that he's staring at her. He tries to avoid her after that, but keeps googling for missing person's reports just in case.

  


...

  
Mikey's stomach does not make any flips when Frank shows up in gym class after being AWOL for a little more than two weeks. Not even the tiniest flip. Frank's wearing his regular clothes, but Mikey's still surprised when Armstrong points him towards the bench. Mikey scoots over, leaving a long stretch of bench for Frank to sit on. Frank doesn't look pleased to be stuck on the bench, but he doesn't protest, slumping down next to Mikey, jeans rubbing against his. There's a long empty stretch of bench on the other side of him, and Mikey tries not to read anything into that.

"New kid."

Frank snorts and it bleeds over into a cough and Mikey feels a little guilty. "Didn't know I still counted as the new kid. It's been more than a semester now, 'fter all."

"Still the newest there is."

"Right. Well, I respond better to Frank, just so ya know." Frank pulls up his hoodie, and digs his hands into his pockets. "I'd shake your hand but I wouldn't want to burden your fragile immune system." He winks.

"Mikey."

"Way. I know," Frank says, and he looks amused. Like it's obvious he'd know who Mikey is and this is all just a formality. Maybe it is.

This week it's volleyball, and Mikey's keeping score for Armstrong, drawing curved letters in his empty Chemistry notebook. Frank elaborates on the designs, adding arbitrary lines and dots on the page when he's not throwing sidelong glances to the game.

"How come you don't participate?" Frank asks after he's filled up one of the score pages, holding it up to examine it. The actual numbers aren't even visible anymore.

"Asthma."

Frank rolls his eyes. "No, I mean the _real_ reason."

Mikey shrugs, adds shading to a zero. "Why do you?"

"Gotta give a hundred and twenty percent in everything. No point in even trying otherwise."

"I'm giving a hundred and twenty percent sitting here."

"Wicked dedication, man." Coming from anyone else it would sound sarcastic, but Frank's still smiling, lips tugging up. His eyes are all red, as if he's been crying a lot or been really sick. This is the closest look Mikey's gotten at him, and Frank's face is open, almost welcoming. Like he doesn't mind the staring, and Mikey doesn't look away.

"You're doing it wrong, this looks better," Frank says, and doesn't even bother to take the pen out of Mikey's hand, guiding it to draw suspending cobwebs on a three.

  


...

  
"Watch this for me?" Frank asks, dropping his gym bag next to Mikey's feet on the grass. Mikey doesn't have time to nod before Frank jogs over to the huddled kids, all trying to stay warm in the still too cold spring air. Frank doesn't blend in at all; shining red shorts and black t-shirt; Mikey shivers from the sight alone, and Frank must too, knees moving fast as he jogs in place. Mikey kicks Frank's bag closer to his own, and buries his chin into the neck of his hoodie.

He carries Frank's bag to the locker room for him after class, the strap digging into his shoulder as Frank walks next to him, asking questions about an upcoming biology exam that Mikey took the previous year. They're far behind everyone else, but Frank doesn't seem to be in a rush, even though his forehead is shining with sweat and the hairs on his arm are all standing up.

Mikey interrupts Frank, asks, ”D'you want like, my hoodie or something? I think Armstrong's nuts cause it's way too cold to be outdoors this soon.”

”Nah, m'good, but thanks for the offer.”

Mikey nods, and listens to Frank blathering on about the exam, and about homecoming which he went to alone and how much it sucks not having a fake ID when so many awesome shows only let in people over eighteen.

Mikey tries not to stare at Frank's bruised knees as he nods along to what Frank's saying. He doesn't ask why Frank didn't leave his bag in the locker room.

  


...

  
"We pick Way," Frank says, and Mikey's head jerks up. He's just gotten comfortable on the grass. Frank is smiling at him, front teeth gleaming. He shifts his weight when a kid on his team tries to elbow him in the ribs. There's a hissed, "The fuck, Frank," and Frank rolls on the balls of his feet, grin still wide.

"Way doesn't participate, Iero. Pick someone else," Armstrong says. He doesn't bother looking up from his attendance list.

"I want Way. It's baseball, not track; he doesn't have to do much. We're on the field first anyway," Frank says, and shrugs. He doesn't stop smiling.

Armstrong sounds exasperated when he turns to Mikey and asks, "Think you can handle it?"

Mikey shrugs, but gets up anyway, brushing off his jeans. This is a terrible, terrible idea. "I guess."

"Get to it, then," Armstrong says, and gets back to checking off names on his list.

Mikey walks up to Frank's group, glance flickering from the glaring team leader to Frank practically jumping up and down where he's standing. It's still way too cold to be outside.

"You're ruining my rep, you know," Mikey says, voice low, but not annoyed. Frank's teeth are still gleaming, and he licks his lips.

"You're graduating soon enough, I think you can survive a dozen gym classes. And you've got all of college to not do gym. C'mon." Frank jogs over to his designated spot on the field. He calls out, "And you really don't have to do much, trust me!"

Mikey stations himself far out on the field, behind one of the most overambitious kids in the class. He'd sit down again if he was certain there wasn't a chance he'd get hit in the head.

The game is uninteresting. Mikey watches Frank running around, almost getting pounced by someone on the batting team. Frank skids on the grass, mouth open and eyes sharp like it's second nature, even though he barely ever catches the ball. Mikey doesn't know if he should be freaked out or turned on.

When it's time to switch, Mikey stays in his spot and no one tells him to join the batting line up. He can't really ruin anything for the other team where he's standing, and they wouldn't expect him to run all that fast anyway. He remains ignored for a few more position switches, and he takes that as his cue to inch himself out of the playing field.

Time passes as slowly when you're in the class as when you're not, which is good to have confirmed. He wonders if he can get away with sitting down, but it's probably not worth pushing it. Mikey wonders if being such a good sport this class might perhaps give him a better grade. That would be nice. Eyes closed and tilted up, the sun is making the bridge of his nose itch, and Mikey focuses on that instead of watching what's going on in the field. He's not missing anything, anyway, the same names are shouted, and the same people make home runs. Besides, someone will probably tell him once class is over anyway.

  
He doesn't notice that Frank is running right at him until it's too late to dodge him.

"Think fast!" Frank yells out before tackling him to the ground, and Mikey's too stunned to even blink. Frank's laughing in his ear, breaths fast and uneven. He moves, but not away from Mikey, and Mikey thinks maybe he's imagining that, except: Frank's thigh is definitely rubbing against Mikey's, and his arm is tense, like it's carrying his weight and he could move off Mikey anytime he wanted to. Mikey blinks so fast the image of Frank's face flickers in front of him as his expression changes. It's like one of those flip books where the pages are being turned slower than they should. It's nice, but it's making him dizzy, Frank's face getting closer with every blink.

"Hey, you ok?" Frank asks, and Mikey squints at him.

He nods, doesn't bother to try adjusting his glasses, says, "Yeah, m'fine."

Frank smiles, and his lips are shining. Mikey doesn't want to move yet, Frank's weight against his hips comfortable, so he sighs when Frank shifts. But Frank doesn't get up; he leans in, wet lips sliding against Mikey's in a determined motion.

Mikey lets out a small yelp when Frank stops kissing him, face hovering close above his, but he doesn't really care. Frank's thumb is pressing against Mikey's wrist, and Mikey can see the pit stains on Frank's shirt. He should be disgusted, but he just wants Frank to lie down again.

"You know, if you stay down, I can tell Armstrong you got an attack and you can sue him and the school for everything they've got."

"I think I'd like, need an actual doctor's note to prove anything."

"Point," Frank says.

"Doesn't your team miss you?" Mikey shifts a bit, and his nose ends up poking Frank's, Mikey's glasses going even more askew, and Frank starts laughing. Mikey tilts his head up and kisses him to shut him up. He gets up, a swift effortless movement, strands of grass sticking to his sweats and hair.

"Class ended like, fifteen minutes ago," Frank says, reaching down and grabbing Mikey's hand. He pulls him up, each muscle in his arm straining. Mikey almost wants Frank to tackle him to the ground again so he can miss chemistry. His skin is vibrating, hands shaking as Frank leans into him and plucks strands of grass from Mikey's hair, ignoring that in his own.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Very fake and completely fictional.  
>  **A/N:** Obligatory high school AU, I guess? [](http://lovebashed.livejournal.com/profile)[**lovebashed**](http://lovebashed.livejournal.com/) looked it over for me (♥) and all remaining mistakes are mine. I'd love to hear what you think; all feedback is always very welcome!


End file.
